I never saw Freyr’s wife, Gerdr. If she dwelled in Alfheim, she never deigned to grace us with her presence. I only saw the slow decline of Freyr’s brightness, until what remained was a mask so carefully crafted, it didn’t surprise me that no one else saw it for what it was.
Then came Ragnarök, with Freyr galloping off away from us across Yggdrasil’s branches toward inevitable doom.
That all the gods would be reborn was guesswork. In truth, few had been named for resurrection, like Balder. None even knew what resurrection meant. Would those brought back be the same as they had been before? Would they remember their previous lives or be wholly new beings, fresh like babes? We didn’t know if we would be alive to greet Freyr either should he come home. My Fricco, me being one of few confidants or kin bidden to call him by that endearment. During those dark and daunting days, I thought I might mourn him for all eternity, even if I too perished.
Until one day... he returned.
AFTER RAGNARÖK
Anewskyhadbeen birthed to banish the remaining darkness and faint flickers of dying flames, and with this new dawn and its new sun cresting Yggdrasil’s branches, so too crested Freyr riding atop Gullinbursti just as he had left us. Butnot only was he returning to our branch of the great World Tree, but his sword had been returned to him.
It caught my eye first as others shouted in glee that Freyr approached, for its steel glinted in the sunlight cast behind it, both from the actual sun and from Freyr himself. The sword flew ahead of him as if just as eager to come home, heralding its master’s return.
I was equally as dazzled, as humbled, as in love as I had ever been. Surrounded by my brethren as we awaited Freyr at the edge of the city, I felt as if none of the others were there, as if all that existed in the whole realm of Alfheim was me and myFricco.
I dared not hope that the return of the sword meant the exit of Gerdr from Freyr’s life, yet as he neared, I knew it to be true, if from nothing else but the even more hardened mask of his false smile. Our king was heartbroken, devastated, but unwilling to show his people any cracks in his strong façade. Was he otherwise changed? Would he still know me as the close friends we’d once been? Before I could even dare to wonder about being more to him, I had to still be that.
I raced forward to take my place at the base of Gullinbursti and to accept the great beast’s reins once Freyr leapt from its back. His sword, in far more genuine celebration, flipped about in the air and danced all around him as he dismounted. It danced around all of us like a leaping hound before it dutifully returned to its master and sheathed itself.
Freyr would not meet my eyes even as he smiled wider and handed me the reins as expected. He would not fully meet anyone’s gazes.
“Rejoice, my people, my hirdmen, my friends, for Ragnarök has ended and a new age of peace is upon us!”
The crowd cheered. Word would spread quickly throughout the rest of Alfheim that all was well, and many would travel tovisit the city and pay the king their respects, as well as to learn what stories they could of how Ragnarök had transpired beyond our borders.
As a storyteller, it was my duty and privilege to learn of Freyr’s exploits and to relay his tales as fanciful adventures to the people. In years past, I had often spent hours lending him my ear, rarely taking notes but simply absorbing his stories as the treasured fables they were. I had often been praised—by others and by Freyr himself—for how well my retellings captured the essence of the events and painted a picture like tapestry.
I sensed without ever having to ask Freyr that his memories of Ragnarök held no stories he wanted to tell.
Of course others asked him for some as he moved through the throng, greeting everyone as cordially as he could. He did know us. He was the Freyr we had lost with all his memories intact. But he was still changed. As usual, no one else seemed to notice how pained he was by their thoughtlessness. Our lord haddied. Who wanted to be reminded of their end, even if it gave way to a new beginning?
I was forced to stay back as Freyr moved away from me, for Gullinbursti was no small creature to lead through a crowd, but while Freyr was still within earshot, I made haste to stable the beast and returned to listen. The golden boar could be tended to later.
Freyr was hushing the crowd when I returned to the front, and as everyone obeyed and fell silent, a falling feather could have been heard landing in the grass.
“I will say no more than this: all transpired as foretold by the Norns, the Jotun sisters who weave the tapestry of fate. I charge you all to please, for your sakes and for mine, look to the future now and not the past.”
“But what of Gerdr?” one feckless voice asked. “What does it mean that your sword has returned to you, my lord?”
Perhaps even the most incompetent of observers could see the way Freyr’s brow pinched and his smile wavered at the question. “I have released her,” he said to an echoing answer of gasps. “In lieu of this new age, she requested it, and I have granted it to her. In our parting, she returned the sword. I have no desire to wed another, for I can imagine no love greater than what I lost.”
Oh, that one day, someday,anyday, I could change his mind about that.
There were disappointed maids, of course, and just as many disappointed men. But having sworn off love and marriage did not mean Freyr would abandon his virile nature. In the days that followed, he returned full force to his philandering beginnings, though in the weeks and months after that, as he seduced and brought others to his bed to seek solace in their bodies, the sadness deep within him behind his clouded eyes only grew worse.
I no longer wished to be one among many. I did not only want to warm my king’s bed. I wanted him to tire of his exploits and see that he could have more again, this time with someone who would return his love as he deserved.
Then he brought a mortal to our realm.
SOME TIME LATER
“Hail!”Ipushedthroughthe crowd as usual upon seeing that Freyr had returned from his most recent outing. He oftenhunted alone or went riding, I assumed to have some peace away from his burdens. In my excitement, I did not immediately notice that Freyr had not dismounted Gullinbursti alone. I imagine I hardly contained my disdain once I caught sight of the beautiful young man who accompanied my king.
He was tall, broad, and as beautiful as any man from the higher realms above Midgard, yet this was a Midgardian. He was mortal. Fair in face, masculine still with a fine dusting of ginger scruff among equally ginger-colored freckles. His hair matched that sunset color, long on top and neatly knotted, with the sides and back shaved close. His turquoise eyes studied me as hard as I studied him.
There was tension in his brow and beads of sweat forming, like others I had seen being stealthilypreparedfor Freyr’s endowment. I knew what device worked within this fellow. Everyone knew of it. Many had experienced such a device, but few had mastered the stretch to receive Freyr's true gift.
It was a point of honor among the people who had tried versus those who had succeeded—being speared by the king. The device for stretching someone to prepare them for greater girth was elven made, so many like it existed, small and narrow at its peak, then more bulbous, and tapered slightly again until it ended with a hilt to hold it snuggly in place once inserted. Each was tailored to match their owner and would slowly grow within whomever bore it from its meager initial size to the size of its owner’s cock.
